The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Side Story 1.6

Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

The Crown Prince made a displeased face as he recalled his future self, who had failed to act his age. If it were him, he wouldn’t have forced things like that. He would’ve treated her well first. There were plenty of ways to win her favor.

‘First, grant her freedom, coax her gently to mend the relationship, and then devour her whole…’

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt. He had reached the point where he was no longer satisfied with the predetermined narrative and instead began fantasizing about his preferred developments. His childhood tutor had advised him to stop reading at times like this.

“If you immerse yourself too deeply, you’ll be consumed by the book, Your Highness. Then your present life will be ruined. Look at that maid over there.”

“Waaah! Eden is dead! Eden is dead! Our Eden! He died protecting Hela, killed by the Demon King’s hand!”

“I haven’t heard any rumors of the Demon King’s resurrection! What is she talking about, Master? And who is this ‘Eden’? I’ve never heard the name… Are you saying there’s a warrior strong enough to face the Demon King whom I don’t know of?”

“That’s not reality, it’s fiction. That maid became so deeply immersed in a novel that her real life fell into ruin.”

“No… I can’t accept this! Eden, wait! I’ll bring you back! I’ll create a world where you and Hela can be happy together—with my own hands!”

“Tsk tsk, it’s terminal, I see. Too late to intervene now.”

“Terminal?”

“When you spend all day obsessively replaying a story in your head, that’s the early stage. When you anxiously wait for sequels, spin-offs, or related content, that’s the mid-stage. And when you can’t wait any longer and start creating the story yourself, that’s the terminal stage. A classic symptom is thinking, ‘If it were me, I’d do it like this…!’ Now, that maid will spend all her days lost in delusions, trying to make two fictional characters happy.”

“Hehe, two kids would be nice, right? A daughter who looks like Eden and a son who looks like Hela. Since giving birth twice would be hard on Hela, twins in one go would be better…”

The sight was rather unpleasant, so he kept only books meant for imparting knowledge close at hand, steering clear of fiction. Thanks to that, he made use of the knowledge within books but was never consumed by them.

In other words, this was his first experience with excessive immersion.

‘Will I end up like that maid? Me, of all people?’

Shaken, the Crown Prince desperately tried to redirect his thoughts. Incidentally, the aforementioned maid left the imperial palace not long after, declaring she would devote herself to creative pursuits. Rumor had it she became quite a famous romance novelist, though he never heard more about her.

At any rate, he needed to drive the slave from his mind immediately. Reluctantly, he headed to the training grounds. When it came to dispelling distracting thoughts, physical exertion was the best remedy.

“Haah…”

Having swung his sword until he was drenched in sweat, he carelessly pushed back his disheveled hair.

‘At this rate, I’ll end up a knight instead of a mage.’

Lately, he had been training more in swordsmanship than magic.

Having leaped over a decade’s worth of skill overnight, he had grown somewhat disenchanted with magic. Then, realizing that moderate physical exertion helped clear his mind of unnecessary thoughts, he picked up the sword—and the results weren’t bad. He had talent in swordsmanship, too. Not that he was surprised.

‘Of course.’

Had there ever been anything he couldn’t do?

Just as he was about to set the practice sword aside with an indifferent expression, having cleansed himself with magic—

“I heard rumors you’ve been focusing on martial arts lately. So it was true.”

A familiar voice reached his ears. A tone so ludicrous it reminded him of a clown exaggerating a performance, trying too hard to appear dignified. Yet, he kept his thoughts to himself and responded calmly.

“Yes. Surprisingly fulfilling, once I tried it, elder brother.”

The speaker was the First Prince—the one who would have smoothly become Crown Prince had he not appeared as a variable.

Unless one heir stood out exceptionally, the succession typically fell to the eldest legitimate son. The magical prowess of his other brothers was all roughly on par. So, had it not been for him, the First Prince would now be the Crown Prince. From the First Prince’s perspective, he was nothing short of a hateful usurper.

Not that he cared. It wasn’t his fault if the Crown Prince position wasn’t handed to the First Prince on a platter.

‘What am I supposed to do about being born superior?’

At the peak of his youthful arrogance, the Crown Prince gazed at his brother with bone-deep haughtiness. There was no familial affection between them—only the recognition of a rival, or more precisely, an obstacle to be removed on the path to becoming Emperor. The feeling was undoubtedly mutual.

Not that the First Prince was uniquely ruthless. In a relationship where you either killed or subdued—or were killed or subdued—even the bond of blood meant nothing.